


Rewrite The Stars

by el3anorrigby



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Feelings Realization, Idiots in Love, M/M, Rehashed plots, need to get into writing again, sorry - Freeform, you have probably read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 06:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: Illya takes in a deep breath and knocks. He has stood in front of Napoleon’s door for god knows how long before finally taking the dreaded step.Time waits for no one, Illya.





	Rewrite The Stars

Illya takes in a deep breath and knocks. He has stood in front of Napoleon’s door for god knows how long before finally taking the dreaded step.

_Time waits for no one, Illya._

He could hear Gaby’s voice in his head over and over, and this infuriates him. Sighing, Illya waits a few beats. Nothing. He knocks again, this time with butterflies in his stomach. Maybe it is all a mistake, him coming over to Napoleon’s. But then the door finally opens.

Illya swallows.

Napoleon is in his pyjamas. His hair is damp, obviously from a recent shower, and this, him looking so unguarded, takes Illya’s breath away. 

“Peril?”

Illya swallows again. He hesitates. It takes a few seconds before he realises Napoleon has called his name a couple of times.

“What do you need?”

“We need to talk.”

Napoleon pauses. Illya senses his hesitance. But he eventually nods and steps aside to let Illya in. 

“Must be something important for you to be here.”

“It had meant something,” Illya blurts before Napoleon could say anything else, reiterates, “Last night. It had meant something.”

A passionate kiss after saving Napoleon’s life is not a normality, but the severity of the situation, coupled with the thought that it could have been the last he’d get to have Napoleon by his side, had jolted Illya into doing the unthinkable.

And then one thing led to another, and after staying the night in Napoleon’s apartment, he had fled. 

And he figures that’s the biggest mistake he’s ever made in his life.

Illya takes in a deep breath, his fists clenched at his sides. Napoleon has not moved. His eyes are trained on Illya, perhaps trying to read him. 

“So why did you leave?”

Napoleon’s words pained Illya like a heavy punch to his gut.

“Cowboy,” Illya starts, trying to explain himself. “Is not something anyone would do. What we’d done.”

“Because we are both men?”

“Because it is dangerous. Because of what we do. Is not easy. Missions, ourselves. We are spies. We will be compromised.”

“So why the change of heart?”

“Because I want you.”

Napoleon sucks in a breath. Illya’s blunt answer catches him off guard. Illya could clearly see he hadn’t expected it. 

“Since...when?” Napoleon stammers. “Last night?”

Illya can’t answer for a moment. He cannot possibly let Napoleon know that his thoughts have been consumed with the idea of kissing Napoleon ever since...Illya can’t even tell anymore. When did it start? 

In Berlin?

Illya remembers the first time he’d seen Napoleon. At his mission briefing. And then he remembers the first time he’d taken a real look at the man. The intrigue was there and Illya’s heart had pounded crazily. It wasn’t because of the mad car chase through the streets or the way Napoleon had spectacularly outfoxed him. It was something else. 

What about Rome? 

Illya remembers that pivotal moment, when he’d saved Napoleon from Rudy. How scared he’d been when the American had trembled in his arms. He was worried he’d lose him. 

In Istanbul maybe?

Illya remembers the last night in the city; Napoleon standing on a cobblestone road, looking at the ground, his shape against the Istanbul night sky, blending into the stars. They were leaving the place and Illya had thought then that there was no other place he’d rather be than to be there right at that precise moment. 

This was exactly where he should be, where he should always remain. By Napoleon’s side. Fate had brought them together, somehow, Napoleon and him and this city. And Illya had figured then that he was in love.

He was in love with Napoleon, with the beautiful outline of his neck when he was smiling with his head tilted back, or even when he’s upset at the littlest things that made his lips turn downward. Illya was in love with this city that always smells of smoke and species and stone, in love with this moment, that night.

_Tonight._

Illya had felt alone before Napoleon. And now. He could not let the chance go. If he is poetic enough, words would flow out of his mouth easily.

Fate brought you to me. Look up, Napoleon. We can rewrite the stars.

He thinks he’s trying to convince Napoleon, but in truth he’s reassuring himself of the inevitable. They are meant to be together. 

“Rome, Istanbul, what does it matter?” 

“Because I’ve been wanting this since you saved me from Rudi. Or maybe, just maybe, even when we were in that cafe in Berlin. So it does matter.”

Illya’s breath hitches. His stomach in knots.

He looks up and watches Napoleon, fascinated with the redness across his cheekbones. At his stunning admittance. Illya wonders how it would feel like to touch him. To kiss him.

Time slips and Illya is moving towards him.

He can feel his heart pounding; that aching, spreading throb. 

And then Napoleon takes a step back. 

“Cowboy?”

“This is dangerous. Like you’d said,” Napoleon says, and then a slight smile, a twitch at the corners. Teasing. He murmurs, “are you sure?”

Illya shakes his head. Napoleon does things to him that makes him want to smash everything around him and yet, he also makes him giddy with want. 

“Yes. I have done enough thinking.”

He looks at Napoleon determinedly.

“In Rome,” he continues, “when Waverly told us we had another mission, I was glad. I did not want to leave you. And after Istanbul, when Waverly said we will be UNCLE agents permanently, I was even happier. Because it means I will be close to you even if you did not know what I feel.”

“You never told me.”

“No. Because I didn’t think it matter.”

How could Illya have known? How could he have known the American would be all he ever wanted?

“I do not think it started in Istanbul,” Illya says, barely above a whisper. He might as well tell Napoleon everything as he crowds his partner against the wall behind them.

“Then when,” asks Napoleon breathlessly.

Illya shrugs. “Long enough. My feelings...it won’t go away, Cowboy. After last night, I have no more excuses to ignore it.”

_You are a thief who’s stolen my heart._

But Napoleon is silent.

_Say something! _ Illya screams internally.

He starts to feel ill when Napoleon says nothing for the longest time.

But then, after letting him suffer, Napoleon mutters, “you’re so God damn beautiful, Peril,” as he tilts up and grabs a fistful of Illya’s hair before pulling him down into a hard, searing kiss.

Illya gets all wide-eyed at the contact of their lips, his brain short circuiting. He freezes in place, unable to move. But when Napoleon parts his lips, Illya snaps back to reality and he groans as he closes his eyes, his hands coming up to grip Napoleon’s shoulders. And he starts kissing Napoleon like it’s the first and last time that he’ll ever get to do it, letting himself taste the sweetness that is Napoleon’s tongue.

After an eternity, Napoleon pulls back, catching his breath. He curses as Illya rain kisses along the sharp turn of his jaw.

“Fuck, you’ll be the death of me, Peril.”

But Illya merely ignores him, kisses him again and again, his arms around Napoleon’s waist, bodies pressed hard against the wall. Napoleon tips his head back so Illya takes the opportunity to run his lips down the exposed expanse of skin that is his neck and back up to his warm, dizzying mouth.

“I’ve wanted this since Rome,” Napoleon says between kisses.

“You would not shoot me in Berlin. Maybe it is Berlin, not Rome, yes?” Illya questions earnestly, and the sincerity in his voice makes Napoleon laugh.

“Yes, it’s Berlin then. I guess it was love at first sight for me.”

“Are you sure?” 

Napoleon laughs again. But Illya is serious. A shudder runs through Napoleon’s body and he answers the Russian the only way he knows how. Reaching up to touch Illya’s face, he runs his thumb over Illya’s lips. And grins. It’s only then that Illya realises he is grinning like an idiot as well. 

Beaming, in fact. 

“Cowboy?”

Napoleon chuckles as he pulls Illya in for another kiss. “Maybe I’ve loved you even before I met you, Peril. Maybe even before. Cheesy, I know, but is that a good enough answer for you?”

This time it is Illya that laughs and he kisses Napoleon again without saying a word. 

They have indeed rewritten the stars.


End file.
